


Unmasked Lilly's - Year One

by TheWillOfTheQuill



Series: Unmasked Lillies [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: Abused Harry, Abused Harry Potter, Angst, Drarry, Good Slytherins, Hurt/Comfort, Severitus, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin!Harry, Snape Adopts Harry, future drarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillOfTheQuill/pseuds/TheWillOfTheQuill
Summary: Severus Snape was adamant, no - determined to hate Harry Potter. After all, he was the spawn of James Potter, his childhood bully. But when Harry turns up for his first year, malnourished and fearful, it is up to Snape to solve the mystery of why the small boy has bruises that he will not show and scars that will not heal. Sworn to protect Lilly's son, Severus Snape is about to face his hardest challenge yet; gaining the trust of a boy who has sworn to never trust again.
Series: Unmasked Lillies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715545
Comments: 78
Kudos: 893





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a Severitus fic if you're not sure what Severitus is, it is the mentorship/adoption/general looking after of Harry Potter by our favourite Potions Master. Severitus is not a ship and Harry and Snape's relationship will only ever be enemies/family/friends etc but never slash.

“What house are you hoping for then?” A small boy with a slender, pale face asked him, barely containing his look up and down at Harry. “Personally, I’ll be sorted into Slytherin; all of my family has been, and my father says that he can’t see why I wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, the name’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, but you probably already knew that” the boy, whom Harry now knew to be Draco, held out his hand and gestured to shake Harry's own. 

“I’m Harry,’” He replied evenly, trying to give no clue that he was unsure of his surroundings. The shop, Madame Malkins was bustling with throngs of children of all ages being fitted into their school robes which looked rather strange compared to the uniform Harry had thought he would be wearing come September. “Harry Potter,” he added, noticing that Draco’s interest in him had disappeared rather quickly.

“By golly, are you really?” Draco exclaimed, the strong posh intonation that had been noticeable at the start of their conversation forgotten about as he craned his neck over Madame Malkin who was bent, trying to take Draco’s measurements. 

“I suppose you’ll know all about Hogwarts then,” Draco added, much friendlier now all of sudden. “Father says you’ve been raised by relatives of your mothers, but that nobody has been able to find out who since the night of, well, the night of you know what.”

Harry didn’t know what, not at all but he didn’t want to appear stupid in front of the boy, he’d never had a real friend before and Draco seemed rather alright. “I only found out about magic yesterday,” He explained tentatively. “I’ve been raised by my Aunt and Uncle, I only found out when Hagrid came to visit me.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled in obvious disdain, “Hagrid? My father’s mentioned him before, he was expelled from Hogwarts before he’d graduated. What’s Dumbledore doing entrusting someone of your status with a man like Hagrid as a bodyguard? Why, the Minister of Magic himself would have loved to have accompanied you, just you wait until father tells him. He often comes to our house when our mother hosts balls, you know,” Draco boasted, the pride evident in his voice. He had puffed his chest out rather like a frog, Harry thought to himself but smiled politely none the less.

“Hagrid’s brilliant,” Harry lept in defensively, “He even brought me a birthday cake, I’ve never had one before.” 

“You’ve never had a birthday cake!” Draco repeated incredulously, “I can’t imagine even muggles are that uncivilized, why I –.” The rest of Draco’s sentence was cut off by Madame Malkin finishing up on Harry’s robes, she muttered a spell so quietly that Harry barely noticed her doing it and swished her wand ever so slightly and suddenly, Harry’s robes fitted him perfectly. He stared at himself in the mirror in front of him and pushed his broken glasses further up his nose self consciously, he had never had clothes that fit him before. He was more than accustomed to Dudley’s hand me downs and cast-offs, even though Dudley had at least fifty pounds on Harry. 

He shoved his hand hastily into the pocket of the trousers he was wearing and pulled out a worn and faded wallet. The zipper barely opened even with a great deal of tugging and Harry regretted filling it so full with Galleons and Sickles, but when he saw the money; his money! He had been unable to control the urge to fill the old wallet, just in case. He knew that he had more than enough for all of his school supplies that he would have to purchase and he was also unsure of whether or not he could exchange Galleon’s into muggle money, but he felt safer having something. 

He threw a few of the big coins down next to the register for Madame Malkin and waved his goodbye to both her and Draco with a smile.

“I’ll save you a spot in my carriage on the Hogwarts Express, Potter,” Draco smirked, “I’ve some very interesting friends that would love to meet the famous Harry Potter.”

With that, Harry approached the door, which opened as if on cue for him. He smiled heartily to himself, magic was brilliant!


	2. Chapter Two

Harry’s last month living with the Dursley’s was not a pleasant experience; far from it in fact. Whilst his relatives had never been affectionate, nor even tolerable of him, they now seemed to abhor his very existence. If Harry had thought that the Dursley’s were bad before, Harry was sadly, mistaken. 

As it had done, for every summer that had passed before, the scorching sun beat down mercilessly upon the streets, of Privet Drive, causing all of its inhabitants to retire into their perfectly groomed houses to seek shelter in the shade. 

But not everyone had the luxury of being away from the heat. One person, same as they had been during all of his summer's, was indeed out in the hot sun. Although they found it odd, the neighbours were now used to the scrawny child working in the garden. Though they still wondered why the boy didn't work in the evenings when the harsh glare of the sun had eased down.  
However, this did not change the fact, that one Harry Potter was working in the glare of the sun, on his hands and knees, trying to plant the fresh rows of crops. This was not a usual task for him to be given, Harry had thought when Uncle Vernon first ambushed him with a trowel and spade; in fact, Harry often enjoyed doing the gardening. The less time that he spent within the confines of Number 4 Privet Drive, the less likely he was to be blamed for something that he inevitably hadn’t done.

Now, though, the list of chores that Harry was expected to do was longer than his arm and he couldn’t keep up with the extortionate amount of chores Vernon tasked him with. It wasn’t through lack of trying, however; but mysteriously, as soon as Harry came close to finishing the list, another would be added, always more tedious than the rest. 

Slowly straightening up, from his bent-over position in the soil, Harry wiped a muddy hand, across his sweaty brow. He wanted nothing more than to remove his cousin's old t-shirt, that was slung over his bony frame and to feel the subtle breeze that was lingering in the air soothe his hot nape; but he knew this would not be allowed. Dudley had become rather fond of bumping into Harry more than usual and had taken too pushing him down the stairs whenever he could and if Harry should be outside getting the groceries for Aunt Petunia whilst Dudley and his goons were playing in the park; it often became messy quickly. 

One afternoon that had been particularly painful for Harry had resulted in him getting four stitches in the back of his head and he’d had to stay in the hospital for the night on a children’s ward. The nurses who had looked after him had been lovely and full of jokes and laughter for he and the rest of the children who were led in their hospital beds and despite his injury, Harry spent a lovely night in a soft, plush bed. When he saw the doctor, the next morning, however; the doctor drew the curtains around Harry’s bed and brought in one of the lovely nurses from the night before. Together they sat either side of Harry and spoke in the same manner as one would soothe an injured cub.

“How are you feeling this morning, Harry?” The doctor asked him, gently shining a light in Harry’s eyes to check his pupils. 

“Fine, I think,” Harry replied quickly. Fine had always been his default response when asked how he was and he was unsure of what else to say. Besides, he felt fine, or at least as fine as he usually did. Which was to say, that he was filled with dread at the thought of seeing his Aunt and Uncle again, but he wasn’t going to tell the doctor that.

“How was it that you fell again, Harry?” The nurse followed up, “The doctor just wants to check that he doesn’t need to Xray anything else is all.” Her voice was soft and gentle and Harry’s chest constricted painfully at her motherly tone. Would his own mother had been like that, he wondered? He often pondered over how his mother would have reacted to his illness and injuries if she had still been alive, it was in these moments that Harry allowed himself to contemplate such things and it afforded him a meagre amount of comfort.

Embarrassed, he realised that his eyes had begun to fill up with tears. He cleared his throat embarrassedly, “I fell, in the park with my friends,” he tried, “We were just playing, you know?” Harry hoped his voice didn’t crack when he spoke, but even as he said it, he could practically sense the sympathy radiating from the nurse beside him.

“Oh, Harry,” the nurse breathed out heavily, “That’s not what your Auntie told us yesterday I’m afraid and we have some concerns about some of the bruising to your arms and legs –“

Harry interrupted her quickly, his words tumbling over one another in panic. “They're all from the same fall. I’m really clumsy,” but he knew even as he desperately tried to lie, that his words were falling on deaf ears. 

The nurse and the doctor left him eventually, after he had shut down and refused to answer any more of their questions. They’d cast sad looks at one another as they departed, only hesitating to ask him whether he wanted the curtains around his bed left closed or opened. He said nothing as a response, turning away from them and their stupid, caring looks. No good ever came of complaining about his relatives and besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it. 

He’d tried to tell once when he was little. There had been a teacher in his class who asked all of the right questions and Harry hadn’t yet learnt to hold his tongue. His teacher had taken him to another room which had another lady in it who told Harry that she was interested about his life at home; he’d seen no reason to lie and with the innocence and naivety that six-year-olds so often had, he told the lady all about his cupboard under the stairs.

Social Services had gone to his house and asked Aunt Petunia so many questions that Harry hadn’t been allowed food for three days and had only been allowed out of his cupboard to use the bathroom and make breakfast for Dudley and Uncle Vernon. His Aunt had lied, of course, filling the social workers head with things they liked to hear. She had ended their meeting by telling her that Harry was a terribly difficult child with a great many behavioural issues and that he often told lies to get attention. Harry’s teacher never talked to him outside of the classroom ever again and every teacher that he had was told that Harry was a liar. 

Harry had a terrible feeling that the last two weeks left at the Dursley’s were suddenly going to get a lot worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry scratched his head in confusion, staring at the small wall between platforms 9 and 10. There was no platform nine and three quarters and when he asked one of the guards patrolling the station he had just laughed at Harry and asked him where his Mummy was and did Harry need help to find her?

Harry had had to repress the urge to stick his fingers up in a rude gesture to the man but just turned away with a huff, he wasn’t too sure what he’d been expecting – obviously, there wouldn’t be a sign with, “HOGWARTS,” emblazoned across it, but the station looked perfectly ordinary. 

About to admit defeat and decide that Hagrid must have simply told him the wrong day, Harry gasped as he heard the word, “Muggle.” That was the word that Hagrid had used to describe his relatives, wasn’t it? He snapped his head up from where he was resting it on the handle of his luggage trolley and peered around him curiously, there was a lady heading right for him and behind her was a stream of children ranging in ages. She spotted his owl, Hedwig immediately, and smiled as she continued to walk towards him, “Hello, dear, is it your first year at Hogwarts too?” It was clear that it was, but Harry appreciated that she didn’t ridicule him for not knowing how to get on to the platform.

“They don’t make it particularly easy to find do they!”

“N-No,” Harry stuttered, taken aback at the motherly nature of the woman. She placed a hand ever so gently on his shoulder and motioned for him to stand back, “Come on Percy, you go first and show these two how it’s done – it’s Ron’s first year at Hogwarts too,” she added. “Now it’s nothing to be scared of, just start off running and don’t look back, you’ll be on the other side of the platform in no time and just in time to find a good carriage too.”

Harry thought that that sounded like the biggest load of bullshit that he had ever heard but surely the kindly looking lady wouldn’t have lied to him. And besides, she clearly knew what Hogwarts was so Harry could just copy however the eldest boys managed to get into the platform. He watched in astonishment as the eldest ginger boy took a running start and headed directly at the wall, he winced in anticipation; ready for the sound of trolley hitting brick. Instead, he watched in fascination as the boy disappeared into the wall without so much as even a whisper, let alone the sizeable collision Harry had been expecting.  
He glanced at Ron in confusion and excitement, “Wicked,” Ron said breathily, staring at the wall with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Harry glanced back at Ron and gestured him forward before placing his hands on the handle of his trolley and trying to maneuver it straight so that it wouldn’t drift off to one side whilst he ran at the wall. Harry swallowed his doubts with an audible gulp and closed his eyes tight before running at the brick platform, he was half expecting to meet the wall in a terrible collision but instead, he gasped as entered what had to be Platform 9 and 3 Quarters. 

The platform was bustling with Hogwarts students who alternated between running to the train then back to their waiting parents, having forgotten their goodbyes or their trunks. Harry stroked a finger down Hedwig’s back through the gaps in her cage and she puffed her wings out in frustration, “I’ll let you out as soon as I can, Hedwig,” he promised. “As soon as we get off the train, I’m sure we’ll find out where our owls live.”

Harry left his luggage trolley where all of the others had been left for them to be taken to Hogwarts and entered the train to find a compartment. He walked past one that had a girl who looked as nervous as he felt, sat inside. She wore the black robes without a house crest on that he had too and summoning up all of his courage, he knocked the sliding door and stepped inside. “Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, “Do you mind if I sit with you?” 

The girl smiled at him, her bushy hair framing her face. “Of course, I’m Hermione Granger and this is my first year at Hogwarts, and judging by your robes, you must be a first-year too,” She said all in one breath. 

“Err, yeah,” Harry mumbled as he positioned himself on the opposite chair to the girl. He stared out of the window, watching as children called their last goodbyes out of the windows to their parents as the train started to pull out of the station. A small part of him wondered what it would be like saying goodbye to his own parents had they been alive; he’d have probably grown up with magic all around him and so his admittance to Hogwarts would have come as no surprise to him. 

Harry and Hermione sat in comfortable silence for around a half an hour; Hermione reading studiously and Harry staring out of the window, imagining what Hogwarts would be like. He was just about to ask Hermione what she was reading so attentively when he saw a blur of platinum blonde hair pass his carriage window and then a small hand knocked at the door once. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Harry,” Draco stated, no hint of a question in his voice. “I rather thought you might have waited for me on the platform, I did say I’d save you a seat,” Draco’s voice held undertones of hurt, and Harry’s heart panged sadly. His first friend and he’d already disappointed him. 

“Anyway, I’ve some people I’d like you to meet. Potter, this is Crabbe and Goyle.” Draco gestured to two boys who were built like brick outhouses, squat and muscly, Harry was reminded far too uncomfortably of Dudley. He managed to crack a smile onto his face, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes, but determined not to disappoint his new friend, he swallowed the anxiety that bubbled in his throat.

“Hullo,” He smiled, “I’m Harry Potter, good to meet you.” The two boys grunted in response before waddling off to the sweet trolley that was being pushed up and down the carriages. Hermione’s long, thick hair suddenly appeared from behind her book, her eyes wide as she stared at Harry in surprise.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” She queried in a breathless, excited voice, “I know all about you, I’ve read about you in my additional reading books I bought. Is it true that you still have the scar?”

Harry toyed with his fringe nervously before silently acknowledging that showing them his scar would just be easier than trying to answer all of the questions they would undoubtedly have. He lifted his fringe up, exposing the lightning-shaped scar and let them gawk for a few seconds before smoothing his hair back down. It had grown back overnight again, despite Aunt Petunia trying to shave it off the night before they had dropped Harry off at the train station. 

“Have fun trying to make friends at your freak school with that haircut, Potter,” Dudley had laughed, his chins merging into one as he chortled, dripping chocolate ice cream over the sofa in the process. “No one’s going to want to be friends with someone like you.” But as it had every time that Aunt Petunia cut Harry’s hair, it grew back overnight, and he was once again left with untameable black hair that never seemed to lay flat.

“Wicked,” Draco cooed, before physically correcting himself. “I mean, I suppose it is rather interesting isn’t it? What with the circumstances of you receiving the scar and all?”

Harry just stared out of the window again, unsure of what to say. Hagrid had explained how his parents had really died and what had happened to Voldemort on that fateful night, but he was uncomfortable with the idea of others knowing more about his family history and life than he did himself. He swore to himself silently, that he would learn about his parents whilst he was at Hogwarts, no matter the cost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have the next eight chapters of this fic already written but I'm just trying to figure out how often to update.

Whilst Harry had been slogging away at Privet Drive, a great deal of anxious and excited conversation was taking place at Hogwarts. Everyone knew, of course - from the ghosts and portraits to all of the professor's, that this year, Harry Potter was finally coming to Hogwarts.

Whilst many of the Wizarding World held this in excited regard, the professors of Hogwarts, namely the heads of houses were awaiting the day with bated breath. The boy had not been seen for ten years, not since the night he had been left on the Dursley’s doorstep and they had no idea what to expect. Minerva, who had been adamantly opposed to Albus’ decision to place the Potter boy with such vile creatures, had often enquired as to whether she may check on him, but her queries had always been cut short.

"You worry too much, my dear Minerva. Harry is fine and most importantly, is safe behind the blood wards that exist at Privet Drive. It would be unnecessary to unsettle the boy now, soon he will be a student of Hogwarts and you will see that he is safe and well." Dumbledore had consoled her, but the warning in his voice was evident. She was not permitted to check on Harry.

That was why, it had come as a great surprise to the heads of houses to be sat in the staff lounge, awaiting a meeting with the headmaster. Severus Snape, in particular, had sneered at the thought of the meeting; no doubt it would be about Prince Potter's imminent arrival at Hogwarts and how they would all be expected to coddle the boy. The headmaster would probably simply be wondering their opinions on whether the brat should be given private quarters to reside in, as naturally, the dormitories would be slumming it for the entitled boy.

Instead, Dumbledore had had the gall to face him and his colleagues with a face of grim set determination. " I must implore you that this information is to never leave this room," Dumbledore commanded, the ghost of his magical energy accentuating his words. "For you see, that night when Voldemort intended to kill Harry Potter, he invoked magic that he knows not. Indeed, a form of magic that has never been recorded thus previously. By sacrificing herself for Harry that night in Godric’s Hollow, Lily Potter created blood protection that would shield Harry away from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Whilst Harry resides within Privet Drive, he cannot be harmed by followers of Voldemort and each summer he must be returned to the home of his Aunt and Uncle. He will, naturally require a guardian within the magical world, his guardians in the Muggle world will be unable to deal with any problems or incidents that Harry may stumble upon whilst at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore then paused slightly, looking over the tops of his half-moon glasses, the twinkle in his eye visible. " That is why I will be entrusting Harry's guardianship to whomever of you becomes his head of house. You will be the one who will have the most time with the boy, outside of normal teaching hours and so you will be the one who will be able to prepare him for life in the Wizarding world. You will, of course, be reimbursed for this agreement and will only be expected to undertake this role during the school year."

Severus let a small smirk slide onto his face and for the first time since the end of the last school year when he first had to acknowledge that the Potter spawn would soon arrive - Severus Snape slept easily.

After all, no spawn of James Potter would ever be sorted into Slytherin, and Severus would never have to deal with the Brat.


	5. Chapter 5

The first problem that Harry encountered, was Hermione. She was steadfast and intelligent, that much was obvious, but after the sweet trolley had been rolled out and they had spent an hour comparing chocolate frog cards; Hermione announced, “We’ll be arriving at Hogwarts soon, you might want to change into your robes. First impressions matter, you know, and you don’t want to make the wrong impression at the sorting.”

With that, she left their compartment to give the boys some privacy to change, but at her words, Harry felt his body tense with fear. “Aren’t there any changing rooms on the train,” Harry muttered to himself, but he knew that there would not be. He had seen the vast number of students that had been waiting on the platform and couldn’t imagine how they even all fit on to the Hogwarts Express, of course, there wouldn’t be any extra room for changing areas.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” Draco laughed, but there was a hint of concern in his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re shy. You’re the Boy Who Lived, when we get to Hogwarts, everyone’s eyes are going to be on you. Half the students and staff probably have bets on what house you’ll end up in.”

Draco’s words had done nothing to soothe Harry’s growing unease. He had managed to flick through his schoolbooks over the summer, the kind lady in the bookshop having shrunk all of his books down for him with a wordless charm. “Just tap the books with your wand when you want to unshrink them, dear.” She had smiled, seeing the anxious look on Harry’s face. “You must be a first-year! Don’t worry, it won’t be classed as using magic outside of school, it’s just a tap of the wand and they’ll do all the magic for you.”

Harry thought that that lady had been one of the most brilliant people he had ever met, after all, her kind offered had probably just been to save Harry carrying heavy books around all day; but in actuality, it had meant that Harry was able to read his books before he arrived at Hogwarts. Feeling prepared for school was a feeling that he had been unaccustomed too, the Dursley’s having ensured that Harry never performed better in school than their darling Dudders.

He had read all about the sorting hat and the four houses, but unlike Draco, Harry didn’t know or care where he would be sorted. All he wanted was somewhere that he could be just Harry, not “boy,” or “Potter,” and especially not, “The Boy Who Lived. “ No, Harry wanted somewhere where he could belong and where he would be welcomed.

His train carriage, however – had suddenly never felt less welcoming. Harry knew that if he were to take his jumper off, too many questions would be asked, questions that Harry was not allowed to answer. He walked backward from the other boys, so that his back was flush with the chair that Hermione had just vacated, at least he wasn’t showing his back anymore and the bruises on his chest and ribs were not nearly as bad as they had been. 

Shoving his jumper off, Harry grabbed at his white school shirt, only undoing three buttons so that he could slide it unceremoniously over his head. Then it was just a case of bundling his jumper over his shirt and then his cloak on top and Harry mentally breathed a sigh of relief, he had managed it. Unknown to him, however, was Draco’s small furrowed brow. He had seen the marks on Harry’s chest, and they didn’t seem like the type that one received from playing (not that Draco played with toys anymore, of course, they were for babies. He did not count his stuffed dragon, Hiss as a toy and Hiss was discreetly packed at the bottom of his case). The marks on Potter’s chest seemed intentional, almost as if someone had pressed their shoe down on Harry’s skin. He glanced at the other two boys to see if they had noticed, but they were fumbling clumsily with their ties, unable to work out how to tie them. “Good,” Draco mused, it would do Potter no good to be interrogated before they had even arrived at Hogwarts.

With that minor issues sorted, Harry relaxed for the rest of the brief duration to Hogwarts and chattered with the other boys excitedly. He had never had friends before and being able to share his glee and happiness with others was amazing. Draco had pretended to be aloof at first, implying that he had been to Hogwarts, “Loads of times before with father,” but at Harry’s dubious looks, he conceded, “Well, okay – I’ve walked around the grounds once with my mother whilst father was in a meeting with Dumbledore.”

Giddy off of sugar and other sweet concessions, Harry and Draco laughed as they ran off of the Hogwarts Express, ignorant to the reproachful looks of the upper years. They waited for Hermione and Harry waved excitedly as he spotted her coming off of the train, looking anxiously around. 

“Firs’ Year, Firs years. Over ere, yeh don’t want to be left behind. Three to a boat,” Hagrid commanded, his voice gentle despite its loudness. Crabbe and Goyle stared at each other before lumbering over to an awaiting boat, feeling it dip slightly under their weight as they got in. 

After the boat ride which had been far too short for Harry’s liking, Hagrid said his goodbyes cheerfully as a rather stern-looking professor walked over to them. She wore thick, dark green robes and a pointy hat that seemed to be magically enchanted to stay taut and stiff. The witch who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall escorted them into the castle in a no-nonsense, brisk manner. She stared back at anyone who lagged behind with a strict expression on her features, but when her eyes met Harry’s, he could have sworn that she had offered him a brief smile. 

Professor McGonagall paused dramatically after throwing open the doors to a large, cavernous room that was full of students laughing and exchanging greetings with friends. Harry stared at his surroundings, entranced by the ceiling which seemed to be entirely open plan, revealing the stars outside. In confusion, Harry looked at Hermione.

“It’s enchanted to look like the sky, Harry.” Hermione replied to his silent question, “I read about in Hogwarts a History, the founders of Hogwarts created it.” Hermione breathed in quickly, as if to begin telling Harry another fact about Hogwarts but was silenced immediately by a strange hat that sat at the front of the Great Hall, for it had started singing. After it finished its song, Professor McGonagall stepped forward and procured a long list made of a thick parchment out of nowhere. In the same, no-nonsense manner, she said, “When I call your name, please come forward to be sorted.”

And so, it began.

Hermione Granger was sorted into Gryffindor and smiled smugly as she skipped off to the table in the far corner of the room. Ron Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, but when Harry offered up a thumbs up and a small smile, Ron didn’t return it, instead he ignored Harry entirely before sitting at the Gryffindor table and high fiving his older brothers. The sorting continued for what felt like an eternity before it called Harry’s name and the chatter in the hall had built back up as the students grew hungry.

That was of course, until McGonagall readout, “Harry Potter,” and silence fell across the room. Both students and professors alike stared curiously as Harry made his way forward to the front of the room. Harry felt his heart pump anxiously as he took a seat on the small stool and held his breath as the professor placed the hat on his head.

“I’ve waited a long time to sort you, Mr. Potter,” the hat said in Harry’s mind. “A very long time indeed, I sorted both your mother and father before you, both Gryffindor, of course. But where to put you is a curious one. You have a good mind and loyal too, so Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would house you well, but you’ve plenty of courage and a desire to prove yourself and succeed too, so Gryffindor or Slytherin would work too. Hmm, very interesting.”

As the hat deliberated, Harry could sense the atmosphere in the room growing stronger, no sorting had taken this long before. “Please, Mr. Hat,” Harry thought to himself and felt rather cross as he heard the hat chuckle, “somewhere I’ll belong. Somewhere where I can be just Harry and be treated like everyone else.”

Harry could almost feel the hat sigh at his words. “You will never be just another boy, Mr. Potter,” the hat informed him. “You have done a great deal and many things will be expected of you. The entire Wizarding World will be holding you to high regard. But if its companionship of the highest regard that you desire, alongside your want to prove yourself, well, it better be…

SLYTHERIN.”

The Great Hall, once more, fell silent.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry shuffled to his seat, burdened with the weight of everyone’s stares whilst tripping over the trousers that had once been Dudley’s and were inevitably far too large for Harry’s slight frame. At the Slytherin table, Draco patted the seat next to him with a smile, “Take a seat, Potter, I knew you’d be sorted into Slytherin. I knew it! This is Pansy, Blaise, Theodore, Daphne, and of course, you already know Crabbe and Goyle.” Harry smiled at the other first years and they smiled back, their eyes only ever so slightly flicking up to stare at his scar.

Harry stared around the room now that the sorting was continuing, looking up at the staff table which housed all of the professor’s seats. A professor with long, black hair and equally black robes sneered at Harry as he made eye contact with him, but with a rather strange expression that looked almost like curiosity. Next to him was a professor with a large turban on his head, he too, stared at Harry with an unreadable expression but Harry was startled to feel a strong burning feeling pulse through his scar. 

He clutched his forehead at the sudden pain, inhaling sharply. “Who are those two professors,” Harry gasped through the pain that had started receding. He glanced up at the head table again, looking back at the two strange men.

“That’s Professor Snape, he’s our head of house and potions master. Next to him is Professor Quirrell, my father says he’s a waste of space that man,” Draco replied haughtily, enjoying being able to tell Harry things that he didn’t already know.

The feast continued merrily from that point on, but Harry struggled with the vast quantities of food in front of him. There was every kind of food imaginable, roast beef with all of the trimmings, ladened down with thick, beef stock gravy, dense with fat. To go with it were large piles of vegetables that had been seldom touched, they lay forlorn on their plates, neglected by the students who had eyes only for dessert. There was every kind of pastry, pasties, pies that anyone could ever ask for, but Harry felt his heart drop through his chest.

At Privet Drive, he had only ever been allowed the blandest of foods. Toast, porridge if he was lucky, the occasional stale rice cake (Aunt Petunia had bought them once when she started yet another of her fad diets). He had never had the luxury of good, nutrient-dense food, and Harry was unsure of where to start.

Harry mentally took stock off all of the foods in front of him, he knew of course that he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted too, like all of the other students. But he didn’t know where to begin and had no idea what foods to pair with others. Instead, he opted for grabbing a bread roll from its bowl and slathering it with butter like he had seen Aunt Petunia do when she made a sandwich for Dudley and filled his roll with slices of the roast beef that sat proudly in the middle of the table. 

He sat close to the table, holding his roll almost protectively against his chest.

Up at the staff table, Snape felt his eyes narrow. What did the boy think he was playing at, snatching food from the table like some common thief? Not to mention his appearance, Potter had had the gall to turn up, looking as if he hadn’t even brushed his hair and his robes appeared to fall off of his frame, the product of an enlargement charm gone wrong on the train perhaps? No doubt Potter had probably read about them in one of his textbooks and decided to try it on himself to show off to all of his new friends, without even understanding the theory of the spell. That was, of course, assuming Potter had even read any of his schoolbooks, personally, he had his doubts. 

His brow furrowed as he watched Potter’s actions with his friends; he seemed to act as if he were fearful of them and watched everything they did with wide, large eyes. What was Potter playing at? He made eye contact with the Slytherin prefects and nodded minutely and in a rapid fashion, they had herded the first years up in an orderly train, almost like excitable sheep.

Harry allowed himself a final glance up at the potions master once more before leaving the Great Hall with the other first years. He was unable to read the expression on the man’s face, it was as if he had a carefully guarded mask covering his emotions, and the dull, lifeless expression made Harry panic slightly. He followed his prefect to the common room; Harry was very much aware that he was dawdling but instead of reprimanding him for his slow pace, the prefect slowed down with a smile at his wonderous expression.

“It is rather a lot to take in isn’t it?” She asked him in a much gentler voice than Harry had been expecting, his first impressions of the house of Slytherin were that its students were guarded and socially educated, they acted as if they had known magic all of their lives and as such, that it wasn’t such a marvelous thing. Although Harry thought to himself, that for the majority of students, magic was probably as commonplace as breathing. 

“It’s amazing,” Harry breathed excitedly at the older girl. Shyness and his usual anxiety around anyone older than he, forgotten – Harry craned his neck in bewilderment as the portraits around him babbled over one another, calling out greetings to the new students and warnings to behave. 

Just as they were about to stop after descending down so many flights of stairs that Harry lost count after seven, he felt a chill clamber inside every cell within his body. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, uncomfortable with the sudden invasion and with a small but audible gasp, backtracked so hard that he fell backward onto the floor. 

“Hello, Baron,” the prefects chorused almost in unison at the ghost who bobbed outside of their common room. “Come to meet our firsties have you? We’ve got a right fine lot this year, we’re a shoo-in for the house cup, of course.” 

Draco extended a hand to Harry with a smirk, “Scared, Potter?” But at the annoyed look that clouded Harry’s face, he hastily added, “The ghosts are rather off-putting, aren’t they? Father warned me that Hogwarts was full of them, but I can imagine that for someone who’s been raised by Muggles like you, they are a bit…Scary.” Draco whispered the last word as if it physically pained him to admit such an emotion. Malfoy’s didn’t do fear or cowardice. 

Harry accepted the outstretched hand but didn’t return Draco’s smile. Instead, he shrunk to the back of the line, feeling out of place and too exposed. Harry didn’t like crowds and busy areas; it was always hard to predict who was standing behind him or whether he was going to get punished. Uncle Vernon always seemed to punish Harry whenever he had the misfortune of having to go out with him and Harry had come to fear outings and crowds alike.

He waited cautiously, as the prefects gained the attention of the students who had all broke apart from their line formation to whisper and giggle over the ghosts and talking portraits.  
“Listen up firsties, this is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The password is changed weekly and will be written on the noticeboard every Sunday evening. You will endeavor to remember the password each week, failure to do so will result in you having to spend a miserable few hours outside in the hall until a fellow Slytherin walks by, and the dungeons are especially cold at this time of the year. Inside, you will sit by the fire, firsties at the front on the floor and seventh years at the back, sort yourselves by years. This will ensure the right timetables are given to the right students, tardiness will not be accepted, not even on your first day. Professor Snape will be in to speak to you momentarily.” 

They did as they were told instantly, all acknowledging the importance of their first meeting with their head of house. Harry sat in the corner of the common room; legs crossed on the carpet that was flush against the edge of the fireplace. The common room was very clearly under the lake that Harry had seen on his way into Hogwarts, the walls on the right side of the room were made of a thick glass that allowed the room to be filled with a green, murky hue. Individual and group study tables rimmed the outside perimeter of the common room, framed by vast quantities of dark oak bookshelves.   
The fireplace that Harry was currently sat near was adorned on the sides by four plush, deep green sofas that were accompanied by separate armchairs. A thick, sleek rug covered the floor and seemed to be imbued with a warming charm, for despite being sat on the floor, Harry was comfortably warm. 

Harry tensed as Draco sat next to him, the immaculately placed boy looking horrified at the idea of slumming it by sitting on the floor. Draco had attempted to protest vehemently at the order and instead had graciously attempted to sit on the plush couches that the older years were now sitting on. Nursing his bruised pride and ego, Draco sat next to Harry, not a moment too late, as Professor Snape immediately came billowing in. 

“Welcome to the noble house of Slytherin,” Snape began, seemingly drawling the words, but underneath the calm intonation was a practised precision. “I do not doubt that throughout your forthcoming weeks here you will hear many whispers of how the house of Slytherin is one in which every student practises the dark arts. Indeed, many of you may have already been informed that the Dark Lord himself was a Slytherin.” 

At his words there was a collective, large gasp of surprise and Harry’s brow grew furrowed. What did it matter that Voldemort had been in Slytherin? After all, someone had to be. 

“You will do well to remember during your time at Hogwarts, that your house allegiance does not define the types of witches and wizards that you grow to be. There will be no hand-holding from your Professors to sway you to the side of the light, only the notion that to pursue the dark arts is to pursue a life of trouble and pain. The allure of the dark arts can be strong, but you must be stronger.”  
Again, Snape paused, holding his gaze especially on the seventh years who he feared would follow in their father’s footsteps. Whilst there had been no physical indications to suggest the Dark Lord’s rise, the combination of Harry Potter’s return to the magical world and the untimely burning sensation in Snape’s dark mark was no coincidence.

Returning his gaze back to the first years, he continued, “Whilst at Hogwarts, Slytherin will be your family. Together you will learn, grow and as much as I loathe to say it, play. You will encounter a great deal of prejudice against you for your house alignment from the other houses and as Slytherin’s you will stick together. If one of you fights, you all fight. You are a united front, but if I have to remind you past this point not to get caught during any retaliations you may take, the consequences will be most… Unpleasant.”

“My office hours are every evening between seven and eight pm, I will also be in the common room throughout the week to assist with any additional questions you may have. First years, you are to be in bed by nine pm sharp, second years, nine-thirty. Older years, you are permitted to assign yourselves your time to retire to bed, but if I have any indication that anyone is causing their fellow snakes to have inadequate sleep as a result of incessant chatter or noise, you will be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the term.”

With a vast, sweeping look, he departed the room and Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief. He turned to face Draco, their earlier incident all forgiven as they made to stand up and follow the prefect to the first-year dormitories. “Does he really mean what he said?” Harry asked as he followed the others up the stairs, “About the detentions for the rest of the term?”

The Slytherin fifth year prefect, Thaddeus Ainsbury smiled grimly. “Professor Snape never says anything he doesn’t mean, Potter. You’ll see what I mean soon enough in your first potions class, Snape’s a world-renowned potions master but Merlin help you if you dare mess around, I reckon he’d probably string you up by your ankles.”

Harry gulped nervously as he walked into the dormitory, would professor Snape end up being like Uncle Vernon he wondered? He followed the other firsties into the middle of the room and instantly leapt for the bed that was nearest the window and opposite the door, Harry felt safest when he could see any potential points of entrance and exit. It was almost an innate reaction for him now if he could see the door of his cupboard or indeed of Dudley’s second bedroom then he could anticipate any punishments and would pretend to be asleep. It seldom worked however, Vernon would simply grab him out of bed despite Harry’s attempts to look smaller and meeker.

Inside of the circular room, was eight, four-poster beds with thick, luscious draw rope canopies that offered the beds privacy. In the middle was a large fire that seemed to be enchanted, for it didn’t appear to have any logs burning upon it, yet it emitted a constant comforting warmth and light. At the foot of each bed were the boys’ individual trunks and a small cubby for any schoolbooks that were needed for the day, to be placed inside. 

“They’ve got a forget me not charm on them,” the prefect explained, pointing to the cubbies. “So, you’ve no excuses for forgetting your homework. You’ll find your timetables on your beds, for your first two years you’ll have all of your classes together until you can pick two options in your third year. You will be expected to hand in work completed to the high standards that are expected of Slytherin students; failure to do so will result in loss of privileges. Moreover, you will be expected to attend at least two study group meetings in the common room a week.” Thaddeus smiled and clapped his hands together briskly.

“Well I think that’s everything I’m supposed to tell you, it is rather a lot to take in and we appreciate that for some of you this is going to be a completely new experience. However, you will be expected to comply with the rules immediately. You may now start preparing for bed, you will find the bathrooms just down the corridor from your dorm and unless you are prepared to deal with a very annoyed head of house, you will do well to endeavor not to enter the common room until at least six am. Goodnight firsties.”

As soon as Thaddeus left the dorm and closed the door behind him, the dormitory erupted into a burst of excited chatter that even Harry joined in with. “Let’s have a look at our timetables then,” Blaise, one of Harry’s fellow Slytherins enthused. “Fingers crossed we don’t have History of Magic, my brother told me that the class is taught by a ghost who died teaching and just about manages to bore everyone to death.”

“We have Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration and Herbology,” Harry called out, and from the bed next to him, Theodore gasped excitedly.

“Phwoar, that’s a brill first day!” Theo enthused. “I’ve read all of those texts already so I’m rather prepared. My father considers DADA to be one of the most important classes naturally.”

A resounding noise of approval resounded at Theo’s words and Harry’s chest constricted slightly. What subjects would his parents have looked forward to him learning, he wondered? Harry had never known much about his parents, after all, until only a month ago he had thought his parents had died in a car crash. But he especially hated the fact that everybody else seemed to know more about his parents and life than he did. 

It took a long time for the boys to fall asleep that night. Blaise had suggested sneaking out of the dormitory into the common room with the older students, but despite the rest of the boy’s desire to explore, they knew better than to get into trouble on their first night at Hogwarts. 

With a content feeling lulling him to sleep, Harry called out a quiet, “Goodnight,” through yawns, and fell asleep with a smile on his face as all of the other boys chorused back. friendly goodnights.


	7. Chapter 7

“Don’t eat much do you, Potter?” Blaise laughed as he watched Harry take two pieces of toast and butter, compared to the mammoth amount of food that Crabbe and Goyle had stacked on their plates. Crabbe and Goyle stared over, food falling from their mouths as they frowned, trying to figure out what Blaise had said.

“I’m not really a morning person,” Harry lied with ease, “I don’t like eating breakfast.” Harry had found that whenever he was anxious, his stomach couldn’t handle food. It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel hungry; but as soon as the butterflies kicked in, his stomach rejected anything that was inside of it and Harry didn’t particularly fancy spending his first day of lessons in the hospital wing. 

“You’re rather scrawny for eleven though, Potter. Won’t your mummy give you a row for not eating?” Blaise enquired with a laugh.

Everyone stopped eating immediately. “What’s your problem!” Pansy shrieked in a high pitch voice, “You thoughtless prat, you know what happened to his parents, you absolute idiot, Blaise!”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. “I’m sure Blaise didn’t mean it the way that it sounded, Pansy,” he soothed. “He probably just, forgot I suppose that, well, you know…” Harry trailed off, unsure of what to say but wanting the attention to be off of him and for breakfast to continue. He wasn't usually sensitive to mentions of his parents, the Dursley's had made sure of that.   
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Snape walked past the Slytherin table and almost seemed to give an approving nod to Harry. Harry smiled at the man slightly, trying to ensure that the man's first impressions of him hadn’t been a negative one. 

Breakfast continued in a much quieter manner from that point and with fifteen minutes before their first lesson was due to start, Thaddeus stood up and once again clapped his hands together. “Come on then firsties, I’ll walk you to defense, so you know where to go. Does everyone have their books and quills? After me then, try to keep up.” 

They arrived at their class with just enough time to find good seats together. Harry sat with Draco, Blaise with Theo, Pansy with Millicent, and Crabbe with Goyle. There were other girls and boys in the other first-year dormitory in the classroom too, but they simply sneered at Harry and eyed his scar reproachfully, choosing to sit with the Gryffindor students instead. Unbothered and grabbing his books and quill, Harry pulled out the required text and chattered with Draco until Professor Quirrell walked in. 

“W-wands o-ut, please. T-oday y-ou will b-e l-earning t-t-the k-nockback j-inx.” Quirrell stuttered, much to Harry and Draco’s dismay. They both held their tongues, until the end of class at least. Knowing that a world of trouble would befall them if they were to receive detention on their first day.

“He’s an incompetent fool!” Theo raved as they walked towards the potions classroom. “He told us to practise a jinx on each other that we hadn’t even had any lecturing or teaching on. It’s one thing to read about a spell but its something else to start firing out hexes around the place!”

“Potions will be much better, Theo,” Harry consoled. “I read that Professor Snape is the youngest potions master in almost a century, so I’m sure this class will be brilliant. I mean surely he knows his stuff?”

From the shadows of the potions storeroom that was attached to the classroom, one Severus Snape found himself smirking. The youngest Potter complimenting him? Snape? Why that was an interesting development, James Potter was probably spinning in his grave by this point he mused. No doubt Potter probably wanted something or was plotting something and thought that if he buttered up his fellow students then it would take the blame off of him. 

Snape swept into the classroom and with a wave of his wand and a slam of the door, the chalkboard lowered itself down exposing the lecture material. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few…"

"Who possess, the predisposition… I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention! Mister Potter. Our new celebrity.” 

Harry darted his eyes up to meet Snape’s at the mans’ mention of his name. “Yes sir?” He murmured, “I was just taking notes,” he added shyly. Surely, he wasn’t going to get into trouble for taking notes? He anticipated already that they were going to be assigned far more homework than Harry had ever experienced, and he was determined to not fall behind. He had never been allowed to complete his homework with the Dursleys' as Dudley copied it and got Harry into trouble. 

“Tell me, Potter. What potion would I use to ensure that somebody was compelled to tell the truth?”

Harry racked his brain anxiously; he knew this one. He truly did, it was on the tip of his tongue, but the smirk on Snape’s face was doing nothing to soothe the elephants that were stomping around his stomach.

“Vertisereum, sir,” Harry blurted out, not realising that he had been holding his breath. “It’s a potion which forces people to tell the truth, even if they don’t want too. The ministry is able to use it in trials because it's so effective,” Harry added, hoping that his words would be enough to impress the man. 

For the second time that day, Severus felt a look of approval slide across his face. Not only had the boy soothed the situation at breakfast but he also appeared to have read his schoolbooks and some additional reading. They didn’t typically cover truth serums until at least the end of the second year.

“Correct, where would I find a bezoar?”

Harry managed a smile this time, that one was easy. “In the stomach of a goat, sir. They’re used as an antidote to most poisons, but not all.” Harry was suddenly extremely thankful for the witch in the book shop in Diagon Alley who had offered to shrink his books down for him. It had meant that he had been able to read all his texts and some extra and then had been able to tap his wand against the bindings and they shrunk themselves back down. 

“Correct, Potter. It is reassuring to see that someone has actually opened their books before coming to Hogwarts.”

Snape then began quizzing the first years and Harry was thankfully, for the most part, ignored. The potions class was an equal divide of Gryffindors and Slytherins and Harry could already tell that it was a highly volatile combination of students. Draco and Ron had already exchanged words outside of the classroom and were now continuously shooting each other dirty looks.

Hermione answered all of Snape’s questions correctly and when she did, Harry smiled at her in appreciation. He liked that the girl seemed to enjoy reading as much as he did and he made to sit next to her when Snape called an end to his questioning and instead assigned them instructions for what he described as being, “The easiest potion to brew that even a squib could do it.”

Harry and Hermione worked together peacefully, easily alternating tasks so that one of them was always on hand to stir the potion when necessary. Compared to some of the others that Harry had seen in the textbook, this one was particularly easy. He added the snake fangs to their mortar and crushed them into a cloud of fine dust, he could feel the tip of his tongue jutting over the edge of his lip in concentration as he tried to get the fangs to resemble sand. Hermione waited by his side, ready with her wand for when Harry added four measures of the fangs to the cauldron so that she could bring the cauldron to 250 degrees for ten seconds. With a wave of their wands, they were on to part two, which breezed by just as easily.

All in all, Harry thought potions was brilliant. He loved the atmosphere of competitive tension in the classroom and the process of watching a potion come to form was captivating. He said as much to Hermione at the end of the lesson and could have sworn that he saw Snape’s eyebrows raise slightly before issuing an approving nod. 

With a smile, Harry rushed off to follow his classmates to transfiguration and was enthralled by McGonagall’s revelation that she could turn into a cat. He found the concept of learning the transfiguration alphabet a daunting task, but Professor McGonagall promised them that should they fail to do so, they would be in for a highly unpleasant first term.

Heads full of knowledge and stomachs rumbling with hunger, the Slytherin first years chattered excitedly as they walked to lunch. Harry smiled at Hermione as he watched the girl hovering nervously outside the entrance to the Great Hall and beckoned her to sit with them.

“She can't sit with us, Harry,” Draco hissed at him. “She’s a Gryffindor and besides, she’s, not – well you know, she’s not like us!” 

Harry scowled indignantly. “Hermione is more than welcome to sit with me, Draco. I read through our rule book and it says nothing about keeping to our house table. Besides, Hermione’s a brilliant witch, she’s better than anyone in our classes. Even you,” Harry added, and if he hadn’t been in Hogwarts, he would have stuck his tongue out for good measure. As it was, he opted instead for turning his back on Draco and sitting with Hermione, pouring them both a glass of pumpkin juice. 

“What did you think of your classes?” Harry asked Hermione as they ate. “We had defence before potions and transfiguration after.”

It turned out that Hermione had had double transfiguration that day and that in their second lesson that afternoon, they would be learning how to turn a matchstick into a needle.  
“It’s a rather simple transfiguration, I imagine,” Hermione told him. “ But you have to concentrate an awful lot, of course. I only hope I’ve read up enough about the spell, I’ve been practising the incantation and wand movement since I read about it before coming to Hogwarts.”

Draco looked as if he was going to say something at Hermione’s loud exclamation of life before Hogwarts. Could she make it anymore established that she was a muggle-born he thought in disgust?

“You’ll have studied plenty,” Marcus Flint stated after sitting himself down next to Harry. “Matchstick into a needle is easy, you’ll do fine.” He smiled at Hermione ever so slightly and Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. So it wasn’t against the rules for Hermione to sit with him after all, he mused. 

“Say, Hermione, I was thinking of going down to visit Hagrid after my Herbology if you’d like to come with me. Hagrid said I could bring some friends to tea.”

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s almost instantaneously. “I want to come too,” he demanded, determined not to be left out on an adventure. “Problem?” He snarked at Harry’s smug look. 

“Not at all, Draco,” Harry quipped. “The more the merrier, Hagrid really friendly. I’m sure he won't mind.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter today as I've just had my laptop back for the first time in a month and I need to sync all my documents and seperate chapters so just consider this a filler chapter. Also, please do not worry that I will abandon this work, I have up until after the Christmas holidays already written. 
> 
> Again, apologises for the lack of updates. My laptop has been in repair for a month and I've bought a new one, so fingers crossed this one will actually work!

As it turned out; Hagrid had no problem with Harry bringing his friends to tea. 

“Any friend o' harry's is a friend o' mine. Come in yeh lot, the tea's brewing,” the half giant smiled earnestly. “So, how yeh bin finding Hogwarts so far?” 

The trio smiled at one another as their voices clambered over one another to be the one that was most heard. “It’s brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. “ We’re going to be turning matches into needles soon but Hermione thinks we won’t be able to do it.”

“I don’t ‘spect yeh will be able ter do it on your firs’ try.” Hagrid consoled the two boys whose faces had been decorated with a cross look. “Took me a while too if I remember rightly. Magic is tricky business.” 

Fang circled them all excitedly, happy to have company that was willing to scratch his ears and rub his belly and he sighed contently as Draco started to stroke him. “I’ve always rather wanted a dog,” Draco explained after looking up at Harry and Hermione’s confused faces. “Father never let me of course, he said that dogs were messing creatures and that it wouldn’t be fair on mother.”

“I thought there would have bin house elves in Malfoy Manor,” Hagrid enquired, “ Never had one meself but I spect you’ve got yerself a few.”

“Of course we have house elves,” Draco scoffed. “They cook and clean, but they’re not much company. There’s one that we have, his name is Dobby. He’s always been the kindest, but he’s a rather stupid thing.” His voice softened when he spoke of Dobby. 

“Yeh not much like your father, Malfoy,” Hagrid remarked kindly, handing the blonde boy a large bucket of tea. “Now you make sure to keep yer head down, yer hear me?” 

Harry, despite having not known Draco for that long; knew immediately that Hagrid had struck a nerve with his fellow Slytherin. Draco had been extremely touchy about his father so far and any mention of him had brought a scowl to the boys’ face. Personally, Harry thought that it was as a result of Hermione and her tagging along with them. Harry, despite having only been in Slytherin for a masculine amount of time had already picked up that some of the students believed that certain blood types were far superior than others.

“We have flying lessons soon, Hagrid,” Harry enthused happily, determined to take the focus away from Draco’s father. It was clearly a sore subject. He was extremely excited to try flying, it sounded like bliss and a type of freedom that Harry had never experienced before. 

“Av yer?” Hagrid enthused just as excitedly in his larger than life demeanour. “Now yer make sure yer listen alright? Flying can be dangerous business, ‘specially for firsties like you lot!”  
Draco sniffed in mock offence at his words, his prior sulkiness having worn off now. “I’ve been flying since I was practically a baby, Hagrid! My mother bought me one for my third birthday, it didn’t go much off of the floor but I took to it naturally of course.”

Hermione smiled at Draco’s change in mood and joined the conversation with ease. “I’ve never been on a broom stick before, I’m rather nervous. I did ballet for a while when I was little but I’ve always much preferred reading so my parents took me out of it and just left me to my books instead.”

Harry found that the conversation had steered into something that he was unable to join in with. He had had no experience of playing sports or going to the library after the school with loving parents. The Dursley’s had been so afraid of teachers seeing bruises on Harry’s back and legs whilst he was changing, that he had been banned from taking part in any sort of sporting activities.  
“Highly asthmatic,” they’d always explained to his teachers with the most sympathetic looks on their faces. “Just running seems to trigger an attack off so I’m afraid he’ll just have to sit out on any sporting activities, we don’t want to risk his health, I’m sure you understand.”

Harry’s head was still in the clouds as he walked back to the dormitory with Draco after dinner that night and his boisterous companion shot him many a worried look. 

“Not going all mental on me, are you, Potter?” Draco quipped as they undressed into their pyjamas for bed. 

“You’d love that wouldn’t you, you git,” Harry laughed back with ease as he climbed into his four poster bed and began to draw the curtains around it. “You’d get a chance at being the smart one then!” Harry had never had friends before Hogwarts, but he found being around Draco and Hermione to be easy. There were never any awkward gaps where Harry felt left out and he never felt like an outsider. Instead, he was a final piece to a highly unusual trio of friends. 

He was brought out of his musings as Draco launched a missile in the form of a pillow and spent the rest of the night in a happy limbo surrounded by his friends (and a lot of feathers from their burst pillows).


	9. Chapter 9

It was a week into the term when Severus decided that he would have to tell Potter about the guardianship agreement. 

“Potter, stay behind at the end of class.” He barked sharply from the front of the class as the rest of the first year began to bottle their potions. Although he was loathe to admit, Severus grudgingly considered the boy to be a rather adept brewer with a promise for true potential. He would be seen dead before he would admit that to any of his colleagues however and had wasted no opportunity to complain about the boy in the staff room.

“He struts around the castle like being in Hogwarts is his God-given right. He is infuriatingly just like his father,” he had complained over a cup of tea after a gruelling potions lesson.  
“Why Severus, I thought the boy was rather like Lily. He has her eyes, you know.” Minerva had soothed and to herself, thought that Severus had a rather large bee in his bonnet against the poor wee lad.   
Severus only grumbled in response. 

“Dismissed,” he called as the stragglers of the class placed their bottled potions on his desk. “Grades will be assigned according to the correct consistency, colour and ingredients used. You will be tested next lesson on the properties of the Wiggenweld potion and where the ingredients can be found, I suggest you study unless you wish to find yourselves in detention so early in to the term.”  
Potter had managed to follow his simple instructions and had his book bag slung across his slight frame waiting in front of his desk. “You wanted to see me, Professor?” The boy said nervously, scuffing the ground with his foot. Harry didn’t like spending time with adults on his own, especially not tall men who seemed to dislike him. 

“Astute as always, Potter,” Snape snapped under his breath as he stacked his essays into a pile. The large amount of homework that he always seemed to have was steadily accumulating, a clear sign that the term was well and truly in full swing. Many of his colleagues offered the students something of a grace period when they first arrived, allowing them time to settle in; he, however, did not.  
Potions was a highly volatile subjects and blubbering idiots such as Longbottom and Finnegan had to learn the hard way that in life, accidents should not happen. Accidents were what caused people to be killed. Severus himself had had to learn that lesson the hard way.

He turned away from the boy and strode towards the archway at the front of his classroom that housed the door to his private office. Potter followed behind him quietly, not that he had expected anything else. So far, Harry Potter had been a mystery. He was carefully guarded and quiet and seemed to have the oddest mixture of intelligence and a habit of finding himself in places he shouldn’t be in.   
“Sit.” Snape commanded as soon as they entered his office, walking past the slight boy to sit at his desk. He ruffled the paperwork to find the one that he wanted and placed it on the end of his desk in front of Potter.

“What, do you call this,” he hissed lowly. “Do you take my class for a joke, Potter? Did handing in an essay of such dismal quality cause the laughter with your comrades that you hoped? Or did they look down on you in disgust?”

Harry felt his cheeks flood with colour and gulped heavily. “S’nothing like that, ‘Fessor,” he mumbled nervously. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this one bit. The man was annoyed, a deep furrow in his brow as his obsidian eyes seemed to glint with anger at Harry. 

“Speak up, boy,” Snape barked, crossing his arms in what Harry had come to know as a warning pose. Snape in class was like a coiled snake, waiting to strike and his body language now was mirroring a disturbed snake perfectly.

“It’s my homework, Professor Snape,” Harry replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. His eyes were alight with panic but also challenge. The bloody git couldn’t give him detention for doing his homework he seethed silently. Snape seemed to have it out for Harry personally and despite Harry’s interest in potions, he had already found the love that he had had for it during the summer whilst he read his schools books; quickly starting to wane.

“Is that so?” Snape seemed to almost purr, and Harry’s hackles were raised immediately. The man’s voice was low, a growl even and Harry felt as small as a mouse that was about to be played with by a tiger. He had to escape from the imminent danger.

“Tell me, Potter. Why is it that you believe yourself to be so above your peers that your fame addled brain deems it acceptable to hand in such an atrocious piece of work?”

“I do not!” Harry huffed indignantly. “Why do you have to be such a –” Harry managed to stop himself at the last second, knowing that his Slytherin prefects would be royally pissed off if he brought shame to the name of Slytherin. 

Snape’s eyes glinted angrily. “Detention, Potter.” He spat. “For your abrasive incompetence and disregard for your betters.”

Harry accepted his fate with quiet disregard; he knew, that like with Uncle Vernon, there would be no point arguing with the man. “Okay,” he whispered, feeling angry tears burning at eyes. “s’not my fault,” he complained, “I don’t know how to use the stupid quill and it gets ink blots everywhere, Professor. I got one of the prefects to vanish some of the stains off but I tried and I couldn’t do it.” Harry explained in a pleading voice, knowing it wouldn’t make any difference. Hogwarts was brilliant and the thought of a professor hating him already made his stomach churn, Harry was used to being hated and resented, but at Hogwarts it was different. Hogwarts felt like home. 

Snape stilled and stared at Harry for what felt like an eternity before quietly opening his desk and passing the boy a clean piece of parchment and a quill. At the top of the page, he wrote, “Professor S. Snape. Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” before handing it to Potter. The boy stared at him, a blank slate of confusion.   
“Lines? Professor, I have class soon. I can’t afford to be late, I’ll lose points!”

The knowledge that Potter had come to respect Slytherin’s zero tolerance policy for loss of points appeased him and he managed to speak in a less stern manner to the boy. “Naturally, Potter. I expect you to write your own name at the top of this parchment and practise writing with a quill until your next lesson. I will not have you handing in illegible work and be embarrassed by my colleagues for your incompetence.”

Harry’s eyes darted around the room at the man’s words and wondered where the man was going to have him sit. The room was round, and the walls were lined with thousands of bottles of ingredients that Snape must treasure, Harry mused. There were two deep armchairs next to a fireplace and in between them a small coffee table that housed two different quills and a book of parchment.   
“To the desk, Potter,” Snape commanded but there was no malice in his words. He too knew what it was like to come to Hogwarts and have no experience in the fine art of writing with a quill. In the muggle world, he knew that children used pencil or thing pens in which the ink was contained in a small plastic canister so that it couldn’t leak out. A lazy alternative, he scoffed when he thought about how the brat was probably used to the childish ease of pencil. 

“Thank you, professor,” Harry practically gasped. Nobody had ever shown an interest in helping him before. He eyed the man suspiciously as he walked across the room, anxious as to whether the foreboding professor had a hidden agenda. Once, when Harry had been little, his aunt had woken him and given him a cup of milk and allowed him to watch TV with Dudley and he had thought it to be the best day of his life. Vernon had come home and Dudley had rushed to sit on his lap and Harry in childish naivety, ran too, eager to be loved. His uncle had handed Dudley to his aunt and waited until Harry had settled on his knee before standing him, letting Harry fall to the floor with a cry. 

“Did you think we loved you, Potter!” He had laughed and Harry had vowed to the core of his little heart, that he would never trust any adult ever again  
.   
“For what, Potter?” Snape murmured distractedly as he began his marking, filling page upon page with a multitude of red crosses. “I’m doing this purely for my own benefit of course, so that I do not have to waste anymore of my precious time deciphering your work.” 

They worked in quiet, peaceful silence after that for an hour, the only noise the steady scratching of a quill against starchy parchment. Just as Snape became aware of the time for his next class full of idiots, Harry jumped up, startled. 

“Before you leave like a heathen, Potter. There is one more thing I should like to discuss with you.” Severus suddenly felt awkward, a feeling that he was very much not accustomed too and did not like.   
“Before your arrival at Hogwarts this summer, Professor Dumbledore decided that you would require a guardian within the magical world to oversee your discipline, education and, erm, any other needs that you may need fulfilled.”

Harry’s eyes raised to meet Snape’s so fast that the man worried that Potter might suffer what the muggles called whiplash. “Does that mean I don’t have to go back to Surrey,” he breathed in excitement, his heart beating a million miles a minute. “Does that mean I can stay at Hogwarts? Who is it, Professor?”

Snape cleared his throat and reprimanded himself for being a coward and admitted with a sneer, expecting the boy to run crying out of the office afterwards; “Me.” He said simply, knowing that the boy wouldn’t argue. Surprisingly, he had found Potter to be without much complaint, unlike many of the other brats he encountered each day.  
“I am not your guardian outside of Hogwarts and therefore you will return to your relative at least every summer. I am simply in what the muggles call, loco parentis until you leave school so that you have someone to guide you.”

The boys shoulders fell instantly and Snape could have sworn that he saw the boys eyes grow glassy. Potter nodded his acceptance, picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulders before spinning on his heel and all but running out of his office.

“Insolent brat,” he grumbled to himself, but the words held no meaning. Potters visible disappointment at having to return to his family each year would play on his mind for a very long time.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

Harry had found himself in Snape’s office every other evening before dinner for three weeks. At first, the arrangement had been awkward, Harry had struggled with the stiff silence and panicked every time Snape made any sudden movements. Slowly, he had come to, not look forward to their evenings but neither did he dread them either. The office, he had discovered was rather cozy in the evenings. Snape always wandlessly lit a large fire in the hearth and it filled the room with enough of a warm glow and mood that Harry felt almost relaxed by the methodical and rhythmic nature of practising his lettering.

Outwardly, he always huffed when Snape made him rewrite his essays, especially the ones for potions and transfiguration which tended to be at least two foot longer than the assignments for their other subjects. Despite his huffing and puffing about the extra work, Harry had come to enjoy the sense of pride and satisfaction he got when his professors handed back their grades and even more so when he had the highest grade in potions for the week. 

Professor Snape was proud of him too, that much was obvious and though it was a foreign feeling to have an adult interested in his learning and development, it wasn’t a feeling Harry minded at all. In fact, it was welcome. What was even more welcome than his professor’s approval, however, was the tea that Snape ordered from his personal elf, Kirby. Every night that Harry visited, they had tea together, there was not usually much or any talking, or at least any talking about things that a head of house wouldn’t have a general interest in; which suited Harry perfectly. 

“Try to mask the gormless look on your face, Potter,” Snape had smirked as he had poured himself a cup of tea on the first night of their tutoring sessions. “I do not intend to miss out on my tea, due to having to assist you with your atrocious handwriting,” he had paused then, looking indecisive for a moment before adding, “You may join me for a cup, if you should like.”

Harry at first had wanted to comment that it was Snape’s idea to arrange extra tutoring, not Harry’s, but he opted to stay quiet instead. Instead, he accepted the tea and it had soon became a nightly ritual. The tea was always hot and stirred with a teaspoon of honey and occasionally, when Snape was in a visibly worse mood than usual, the man opted for thick, black coffee which he downed rather than savoured. 

On this particular night, Harry had been quieter than usual and Severus had picked up on it straightaway. Instead of the rhythmic scratching of the quill against parchment that he had become accustomed too, and in some ways enjoyed; the boy was digging the quill in with such force than in multiple places he had ripped through the parchment entirely. 

“Do you mean to accomplish anything this evening, Mr Potter? Or do you simply intend to wear down the point of your quill and waste both my time and yours?” Snape drawled lowly and was surprised to see Potter drop his quill and bring both hands up to cover his face. He lowered his own quill as he contemplated what to do. Potter, despite Severus’ assumptions about the boy, had been rather agreeable. He was polite and collected and clearly had a thirst for knowledge and whilst that didn’t redeem him or excuse him for being a brat, Severus didn’t totally loathe his company. 

“Always one for theatrics, aren’t you, Potter?” He mused out loud, trying to gauge the boys’ response to his light taunting. “Out with it then, have you had a falling out with Miss Granger or with Mr Malfoy, perhaps?” He tried to remove the sneer from his voice but failed; comforting children was not something that came naturally to him. The occasional pat on the back or siting with a child who had had a night terror after being homesick for their parents was as far as he managed. 

“Are you missing your relatives, Potter?” He asked solemnly without any trace of taunting in his voice. He was well aware that students, particularly his snakes who had never been away from their families before struggled with the loneliness that came from being away from home. Severus, himself had never experienced such a thing. Hogwarts had instantly become his home and he had never missed his father, nor his mother either. 

Potters head snapped up and Snape was surprised to see the instant look of anger that overtook the boys face. “Never!” Potter snapped with vehemence. 

He raised an eyebrow in response and much earlier than he would have, summoned Kirby for tea and begrudgingly asked the elf to bring the shortbread biscuits that Harry seemed to have taken a shine too. Less than a minute later, he was passing a cup to Potter, having added a minuscule drop of calming draught. The boy seemed to be fighting a battle to keep his tears at bay and it would do no good to have a snivelling Potter enter the common room. A prefect would summon him instantly if the boy became upset or hysterical, as they had been trained to do and so his sleep would be disturbed by that no doubt. So, he was only doing himself a favour he mused. If he got to the bottom of this now, it would mean he would not be awoken during the night. It was purely only for himself of course and begrudgingly, he admitted it was his responsibility as the boy’s head of house. 

He conjured a handkerchief and passed it to the boy with a wrinkle of disgust on his forehead; he abhorred snivelly children. He was about to ask Potter if he needed to be excused when the brat moved his hand away from his face and Severus nearly audibly gasped. Potter’s scar was raw and inflamed, sticking out the skin as if it had been freshly carved. The light tinge of red around the lightning bolt shaped wound was indictive of bleeding and within seconds he was summoning pain relievers. 

“Are you so insolent that you believe that I have nothing better to do than look after arrogant children who do not follow their house rules about illnesses, Potter? Why is it that you did not inform one of your prefects that you had taken ill?” He chided but as snarky as he felt towards the child, he meant no true malice. He wasn’t such an evil being to wilfully berate a child for being sick.

“I was fine earlier,” Potter grunted between clenched teeth. “I passed Professor Quirrell in the corridor on my way down and, and, and.” The boy stopped dead in his words, his eyebrows pulling downwards into a deep frown. “I don’t remember.” 

At Snape’s incredulous look, Harry rubbed his scar again. It felt as if he had brain fog and he couldn’t remember exactly what it was that he had wanted to tell his professor. “Really, Professor! It’s like someone’s wiped my memories or something!”

At the boys words, Snape raised his wand and enchanted a silent, “Legilimens.” With a gasp from Potter, he was inside the boys mind with ease, twisting down corridors of memories that had been surprisingly packaged within thick iron chain boxes, weighted down by padlocks. Severus wouldn’t go nearly as far as to say the boy was by any means a natural occlumenes, but Potter did seem to be able to compartmentalise and whatever was in the boxes, was something Potter didn’t want anyone to know. 

He carried onwards, through vast locked doors that had been boarded up with wood, whilst black smog threatened to leak from under the door until he reached a large chamber. It held all of the boys most recent memories; ones that hadn’t yet been sorted into types of memories. Some, that were infused with yellow on the outside of the orbs would be sent to the boys serotonin and dopamine receptors so that they could be called upon and give one a warm feeling of companionship. Others, tinged with black would be sent to the boys cortisol receptors to hone the fight or flight reactions.   
What most concerned him was an orb that was a cloudy white and was dense. Whilst the other memories were sorted to their appropriate locations, the one in question sagged with no purpose. He grimaced and with a quick wand wave expelled himself out of the boys’ mind instantly. 

“It would appear as if you have been successfully obliviated Potter,” he grumbled, knowing that his dissatisfaction was audible in his voice. He had no qualms that it had been Quirell, the man had always been painfully inept but since the start of term he had been acting suspiciously. 

Potters eyes were wide with anxiety at his words. “Honestly, P’fessor it wasn’t me! I came straight from dinner to here, I didn’t stop or anything!”

“Do not pander yourself, Potter,” he murmured distractedly as he rummaged in his office desk. “Obliviation is magic that can only be successful by those of great magical prowess.” What didn’t make sense to Snape, however – was how Quirrell could have obliviated the boy. His stutter was barely legible for the most basic of spells, let alone one that had to have a strong magical core behind it.   
“Take the floo back to the common room at once and retire to your bed immediately, Potter. I’ll be sending a house elf to check and if you are anywhere but your bed in the next twenty minutes, you’ll be writing lines until your fingers bleed, do you hear me, boy?”

Potter had the audacity to smile back at him, despite the pain that he knew the boy was in, as if he had never had an adult take care of him before. Not that Severus was taking care of him of course, simply providing his ward with basic instructions. After all, it would be no good if Potter were to be over tired the following day as a result of his pain, he would be far too likely to ruin perfectly good potions ingredients. Severus was doing it for his own benefit, of course.

That was why, for good measure he summoned a glass bottle containing a milky blue liquid. “A common pain reliever with a the slightest bit of dreamless sleep mixed in,” he added by way of explanation as he pressed the bottle into Potters hand.

With a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder he guided his untowardly charge towards the floo and ensured Potter’s arrival at the Slytherin common room before he spun on his heel, his robes snapping angrily against his skin.


End file.
